


Quill and Parchment

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post-War, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, discusses racism, discusses white privilege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29329536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: Percy Weasley knows better than to accept anything that comes from the hands of his rowdy twin brothers. But his curiosity gets the better of him, per usual, and now he's stuck with knowing looks, a tattoo, and a blind date that unfolds into so much more than he ever expected.Written for the With Love, Weasley Fest 2021 for Weasleys, Witches & Writers!
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Percy Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 9
Collections: Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest, With Love Weasley





	Quill and Parchment

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [With_Love_Weasley](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/With_Love_Weasley) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> New Weasley Wizards’ Wheezes product that helps you find your soulmate
> 
> Thanks to my Beta: Ariel Sakura, she turned a bunch of mush into intelligible writing. Also, please note that this fic contains a discussion revolving around racism and white privilege - if that bothers you, well, maybe skip this story! Thanks!

Percy Weasley surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, hates tattoos. 

He believes that tattoos are made for delinquents, ragamuffins, and marauders. 

Like his brothers, for example. 

Percy admits only to himself that perhaps he hates tattoos as much as he does because he’s not quite brave enough to get one. Sure, he was sorted into Gryffindor. But Percy never told his family that he  _ begged  _ the Sorting Hat to place him there, even though it told him Ravenclaw might have been a slightly better fit. 

Weasleys are always Gryffindors. 

But, Percy is used to feeling a bit left behind. He’s always been the odd one out. The loner. The uptight, stuffy brother. 

He used to resent his siblings for their opinions, but he doesn’t anymore. 

After the Great War, Percy reunited with his family. Though it took time, and a bit of work, he’s managed to reforge bonds with everyone. Even Fred and George. Or especially Fred and George. 

It had been easier with them. They’d been more willing, more open from the beginning than his other siblings. He had asked them once, after a spectacularly terrific row with Ron, why. Why had they accepted him back so easily after what he had done? Fred told him it was because they’d seen his sense of humor, when it counted most. 

Percy thinks this is mostly true. He  _ had  _ been there when it counted it most. Maybe it’s because they  _ saw _ him fighting. Or because in their eyes, he’s the reason they each still have a Twin to call their own. That they hadn’t lost the other half of themselves.

Percy can’t imagine losing that. 

Speaking of other halves, that brings him back to his complete aberration of tattoos. 

He walks into Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes and tips his head in greeting toward the cashier before stepping into the back office where his brothers are likely to be. 

He’s not wrong. 

They’re there, and their freckled faces are lit up in obvious delight. They’ve done something, and they’re excited. Percy hides his confusion, because the only thing they’re staring at is a piece of parchment.

Glancing over their shoulders, Percy is more confused when he sees only their names, and the names of Harry, Ginny, Ron, Angelina Johnson and Hermione on it. 

“‘Lo, Perce,” George pipes up, sharing a grin with his twin that immediately puts Percy on edge. 

“What brings your esteemed self to our humble establishment?” Fred wonders. 

“Right brother o’ mine,” George inserts, and Percy allows a wry grin to show, because the way they finish each other's sentences feels like  _ home _ to him. “A high Ministry person such as yourself should never lower himself to associating with scoundrels such as ourselves.”

Percy laughs outright and pulls his brothers into a hug. “Says the two Order of Merlin: First Class recipients.”

He peers around the office, and not much has changed. Though, his brows do pull together when he notices that _ Fred's  _ eyebrows are missing. He then spots a melted cauldron on the floor in the back right corner of the room. 

“Potions mishap?” He nods towards Fred's face, which causes his brother to chuckle. Fred has never had any shame, Percy thinks. 

“Well, experimenting with Potions is a tricky bit of business, as you well know, Perce. How many cases a week do you see in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes?”

“Touche. So what are you working on? Surely a simple piece of parchment could not yield this much interest?”

Fred and George exchanged looks. 

“Well see here, Percy ol’ pal.” Fred began. “This is top secret, and until we release the product we are unable to allow anyone to speak of it outside this room. To ensure such a thing remains secret, we’ve placed a charm on this parchment that prohibits the people who sign it from speaking of the item until it has been released to the public. Interested?”

Percy grew up with Fred and George, and has been the butt of their jokes far too many times to count. He is instantly leery of the mischievous grins that alight their faces. But then, Percy remembers why ultimately, that hat agreed to sort him into Gryffindor. 

He was too damn curious for his own good. 

He nods to George, who then with dramatic flourish presents him a quill and inkpot. Percy eyes the iridescent ink with intrigue before dipping the quill into it and signing his name on the charmed parchment. 

He places the items down and turns to his brothers. His anxiousness is heightened further when they seem to be looking at him expectantly. Percy, never a fool, immediately makes sure his trousers have not vanished. He runs his hands over his chest and up his body, and sighs when he finds that his eyebrows and hair are still attached to his head. 

“What have you lot done-”

But then he feels it. 

A tingling sensation is creeping up his arm. Not painful, but not altogether pleasant, either. He yanks the right sleeve of his robe up to see a mark appearing on his forearm. The ink blinks in and out of existence as it creeps from his wrist, up his forearm and disappears up his bicep. He immediately sheds his outer robes and makes his way to the lavatory. 

His reflection leaves him both horrified and intrigued, because upon his flesh is an intricate Gryphon. It is licking its paws while it’s tail swings back and forth atop the perch that houses it. Percy gasps, and the Gryphon turns his mighty head and eyes him with what looks like arrogant indifference. 

“I’m going to kill you two!” Percy roars as he returns. 

Fred and George are both sitting down at this point, and George is inclining his chair back on two legs. Percy thinks he’s not nearly as afraid as he should be and hopes―viciously―that he loses balance. 

“What were you thinking? I work for the ministry! Imagine if my boss knew that I had something as audacious as this hiding under my robes!”

He doesn’t stop to think as he berates Fred and George. He only feels a blinding anger that is fueled by hurt. He thought they’d gotten past this point of cruelty. They know his stance on permanent body modification! Why would Fred and George do this to him? 

As he loses his wind, he notices that Fred and George have an indecipherable look upon their faces. Shame, for sure. But also… hope? Curiosity? Astonishment?

They’re looking at his Gryphon, who apparently wondered what the ruckus was about and is creeping up his neck to get a look at the source of Percy's ire. 

Fred mumbles under his breath, something that sounds like ‘no way,’ and then promptly smiles. 

“Well, Perce, allow me to explain our latest invention.” He hands Percy back the quill and ink pot. At Percy’s look of confusion and rapidly depleting patience, Fred gestures to the items and says, “look at the inscription.”

Percy lets out a long suffering sigh, and glances down to his hands.

_ I (Th)ink I Love You  _

Both on the quill and inkpot, and both not giving him the slightest idea of what is going on. 

“Okay, so you have a really bad pun inscripted on writing tools. I know my sense of humor is a bit dull, but I fail to see the joke.”

“It’s not a typical WWW product, mate,” George says softly. “Can you tell me what you know of the Patronus Charm?”

Percy scoffs, and quickly waves his wand. 

_ “Expecto Patronum.” _

The silvery Gryphon bursts out of his wand and circles the room, silently roaring before vanishing before them. 

“Yes, yes, we know. You have a bloody Gryphon Patronus. How gallant,” George mutters sullenly, and Percy preens at the jealous undertones lacing his brother's voice. “But you know that the Patronus Charm is based in soul magic, correct?”

Percy nods. 

“Well, we thought about the basis of spell creation. We’ve never tried our hand in it before, but we know how to break down spells because of the rudimentary Arithmancy we’ve needed to create our products. You can break down spells with a sequence of numbers that represent that spells power source, correct? Magic is intent, so if we can identify the intent, we can manipulate the spell.”

Percy continues nodding, he’s aware of all of this from receiving his own N.E.W.T in Arithmancy. 

“Now,” Fred picks up for his brother, “We contacted Professor Vector. Are you aware she’s a half-blood? She has a Mastery in Arithmancy but in the Muggle world she earned something called a  _ Doctirate -  _ or something like that - in Muggle Chemistry. She gave us some pointers, and we were able to break down the Patronus Charm into something tangible, and combine the chemical compounds of the spell with the compounds of Amortentia, and create an ink that immortalizes your soulmate upon your very skin.”

Percy is exceptionally studious. He became the best in his class through sheer determination and discipline. Hermione Granger is acknowledged as the Brightest Witch of the Age. Harry Potter is known to have killer instincts and Ron is the best tactician and Chess Master Percy has ever encountered. 

But the reason Percy is closest to his Twin brothers is not because they have many things in common. Because, in reality, those traits are few and far between. They are reckless, where Percy is cautious. They are loud, where Percy is reserved. They would rather be on brooms, where Percy is content to watch the match. 

No, after Percy saved Fred from the brink of death, he noticed one thing that bonded him more tightly to his brothers than ever. 

They are exceptionally intelligent. More so than even Bill, who is renowned as the best curse breaker on the continent. 

Their creative genius is seconded to none, yet they are humble enough to spend it on doing something they love: creating joy. Or havoc. 

“Why?” is the only thing Percy can manage, shocked as he is. 

“Well, we got the idea from Remus and Tonks. Their Patronuses were a match. And then Harry told us that James and Lily Potter also had complimentary Patronuses. With everything that happened...” Fred trails off, and lifts up his own sleeve to reveal an orange fox that was curled up and sleeping on his forearm. “I don’t want to be alone, forever. George either. We thought that maybe if we can create something to identify our other halves, then we can change so many things. So many people wouldn’t have to be miserable anymore.” 

Percy doesn’t think he’s ever loved his brothers more in that moment. 

“How were you able to use Amortentia? It doesn’t create real love.”

“No,” George agrees, “but we were able to pillage the Black Family Library at Grimmauld place. We found a journal belonging to Calaeno Black. He was a famous potioneer in the late 1500’s. It so happens that, though he’s credited with creating Amortentia, he merely finished it. His journal is riddled with secondary writings that we’ve found to belong to a woman called Imelda Shiltings. She was the original creator, and had been intending to use the potion to find her soulmate. We figure that once Calaeno found out, he tricked her into creating it to make the drinker obsessed with the essence of whomever is in the potion, rather than find a soulmate. He wrote that after he’d secured the equations for himself, Calaeno killed Imelda so no-one outside of the Black Family would know.”

“And  _ that  _ love story gave you the idea to create  _ this _ ?” The twins laugh at Percy’s sarcasm, but answer anyway. 

“Well, her original equations were in his journal, so we just took them and modified what we needed. Now that we know chemistry exists, there’s a lot we can do with potions that we were unable to before. We didn’t realize that muggle science was something that could be useful to us.”

“And why, pray tell, did you trick me into using this?”

“Well, for one, we’re happy that you have a soulmate, Perce. We were afraid your arm would stay blank and you’d end up marrying a book,” Fred smirks at him. 

“And two,” George adds, “we knew you’d never believe in something so frivolous without having proof. And just so you know, Harry and Ginny are, in fact, soul bonded. Their tattoos match.”

Unbelievable. 

Percy supposes he shouldn’t be too angry at his brothers. While they absolutely should have been upfront with him, he knows their hearts are in the right place. It is because of this that instead of cursing Fred and George, he sits around the table and discusses this discovery more in depth. 

Apparently, the result of creating the ink is causing quite a bit of disruption between Ron, Hermione and Fred. Hermione and Ron were decidedly  _ not  _ soulmates when Hermiones fox recoiled away from Rons terrier. 

However,  _ Freds  _ fox attempted to nuzzle Hermiones arm when he brushed against her in passing. 

Percy is  _ so  _ glad his life is not so dramatic. However, sympathy for his brother fills him. 

“Neither Hermione or Ron are speaking to you?” He asks Fred. 

Fred tries to laugh it off, but his eyes are tight. 

“No,” he says. “Ron says that I’ve ruined his relationship and Hermione hexed me with a Bat Bogey when I showed up to her place a few days ago.” He says this with a dreamy expression on his face, and Percy lets out a startled laugh. 

“Why do you look so happy about that?” Percy asks. 

Fred shrugs and grins, “I like my women feisty.” 

oOo

The following weekend, Percy finds himself at Ginny’s quidditch game. He honestly had never pictured his sister playing professional Quidditch, but looking at her now, Percy will never deny that she belongs in the sky. She outmaneuvers her opponents at every turn, and quickly racks up points for the Harpies. 

Percy is sitting in the top box reserved for family with the other Weasleys, Hermione and surprisingly Angelina Johnson. Percy wonders if she is dating George again, or if she’s just here because she’s also a quidditch fanatic. 

“How have you been, Percy?” Angelina asks, and Percy takes his eyes off of a bickering Ron and Hermione to answer. 

“I’ve been doing well, thank you for inquiring. I am now Junior Head of my department. I actually earned it this time, and I’m quite sure I can make Senior Head within the next decade if I keep getting the results they ask for.”

He’s inordinately pleased when he says this, and she smiles at him. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. I hope you achieve your goals. I’m doing quite well myself, thanks for asking.” She eyes him, and he lowers his gaze sheepishly. 

“I apologize. I do tend to be a bit obsessive over my work. How are you? You’re playing for Puddlemere, yes?” 

She nods at him, and Percy thinks her hair swinging around her shoulders makes a pretty sight. 

“Yes, it’s honestly great. I train almost daily, but I wouldn’t want to do anything else. I am not looking forward to facing off against Ginny next month, though.”

Percy nods and they chat for a while longer before their attention is diverted back to the game. Ginny is in perfect form, and he smiles with pride. 

“She’s bloody amazing. You know she is rated 4th in the league and it's only her second year? Her interference stats are damn near perfect!”

“I didn’t realize you liked quidditch. I know you went to matches when we were in school, but I always pegged you as the more reserved of the Weasley brood.” 

Percy turns and gives Angelina a grin that would not look out of place on Fred or Georges face. 

“I love Quidditch,” he clarifies, “I just don’t play much, myself. I’ll join a pick-up game at the Burrow on occasion. I’m a fair flyer, but my hand-eye coordination leaves something to be desired.”

She laughs a loud, belly laugh, and Percy thinks the sound is beautiful. 

The Harpies end up defeating the Tutshill Tornadoes 380-20, and the Weasley family and co. exit the stadium after cheering Ginny through her victory lap. The group is in high spirits, though Percy begs off when his mother invites him over for a celebratory dinner at the Burrow. 

He has an early morning tomorrow. 

He makes his rounds to say good-bye to his family before Angelina catches his arm. 

“So, I know this date was a bit unconventional, what with your whole family being there..” she starts, and Percy immediately cuts her off.

“Date? What are you talking about?!”

“Fred owled me saying that you wanted a date to the game, and I assumed… Oh that bloody prat, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands!” Angelina’s mouth turns slightly into a snarl when she glares at the offending person in question. 

Percy is quite frightened for Fred, though, he did deserve to be hexed for this. 

A date. Really? Fred knows Percy has a soulmate out there, and anyone he dated before then was being set up for failure. 

But looking at Angelina, Percy finds he doesn’t mind too much. Percy had never noticed her in school, as she was a few years younger than him and he was so focused on his studies. But she grew up to be quite beautiful. Her wild hair hangs to her shoulders in ringlets. Her dark skin is free of blemishes and looks smooth to the touch. Her brown eyes are wide and big and they aren’t a boring brown, either. They are clear and deep and when the sun catches them, they melt into amber rays that remind him of syrup and butterscotch. 

Thinking of these things, Percy speaks. 

“I would very much like to take you out on a real date,” he says, impulsively. 

Maybe he is a Gryffindor, after all. 

Angela appraises him with those eyes of hers for a moment before her mouth turns upwards in a sly smirk. 

“I’ll take you up on that.”

* * *

  
  


When Angelina steps out of the shower and takes in her reflection, she always experiences some wonderment. 

Her skin shows a past. Whether it's by scar or by history, her skin is rich in color and culture. 

Being a half-blood, Angelina was raised with a foot firmly on each side. She knew from a young age that she’d be looked down on in both worlds. Same prejudice, different reasons. 

But Angelina never let that get her down when she was a child because she was  _ magic.  _ Her mother spoke of her shaman ancestors who immigrated to Europe and her father told her about her ancestors that suffered through the West Indie Trade. Angelina knows her roots, and that’s why she is always brave, always a fighter. 

She has a jagged scar across her stomach from a wayward curse during the war, and her quidditch career has left her elbows and knees riddled with criss-crosses, but Angelina wears them all like badges of honor. 

This newest mark, however, does not speak of history and hurt, though Angelina couldn’t say if it is  _ more _ . The Gryphon is sleeping at the moment, its mane rumbles slightly whenever it exhales, and Angelina can’t decide if she loves it or despises it. 

She has never taken much stock in things like fate or destiny. She’s always been one to believe things happen either due to action or inaction. Angelina is a person of action, so to think that someone has been created for her, without her approval, is irritating. 

She’s never been a damsel, nor is she distressed. So why does she have to wait on a concept as fickle as a soul mate?

Admittedly, the thought is  _ nice _ , she supposes. But Angelina is a realist, and the likelihood that she ever finds that person is slim. It’s not in her nature to sit back and wait for love. Hell, they might not even be born yet, for all she knows!

Angelina doesn’t really think her other half would be that much younger than she, though. She is decidedly not attracted to younger men, in any case. But, with her dating history, she wouldn’t be surprised if fate has a twisted sense of humor. 

As she dresses, Angelina regards her dating history with derision. She has never dated anyone seriously, because no one gives her a reason to. Her dates have either been too dull, too arrogant, too stupid, or a combination of all three. Still, Angelina has needs, and she tries to get them met every so often. She knows she can’t treat Percy Weasley carelessly, considering she is friends with half of his family. But, she’s hoping that her interest in him is well warranted. 

With a sigh, she grabs her wallet that houses her muggle money and makes her way out of her flat.

oOo

Angelina fidgets nervously with her blouse as she takes a seat. The pub she asked Percy to meet her at is crowded, but not suffocatingly so. She’s been here before, and the food is always good, so she hopes Percy likes it. Her body is tired from the rigorous training she had earlier in the day, but she’s determined to ignore it and see this date through. 

When Fred and George asked if they could set her up on a date with Percy, she’d admittedly been skeptical. The middle Weasley brother has always seemed a bit like a stick-in-the-mud. Angelina, however, knows she is much more passionate and, alright, sometimes that can be described as fiery, so she hadn’t been sure they would get along at all, let alone well. 

But the twins have assured her that there is more to him that meets the eye, and so she agreed to go to the Quidditch match. They would have pestered her until she agreed, anyway. She has known them for long enough to know once they have an idea in their heads, it is best just to ride it through and try to minimize the potential fallout. 

Before she found out about the Twins’ trickery, she thought that maybe she was right, that it was a mistake. Percy was polite, sure, but he had been standoffish at first. 

But once she’d coaxed him out of his shell a bit, Angelina found she was actually looking forward to seeing him again. He had been rather insightful during the match and though he was able to spout statistics like a faucet on full, not once had he seemed boorish or acted as if he knew more than she did. 

She has ran into that problem before. A previous date had once claimed to know more about how to play Quidditch than she did. 

She, a professional Quidditch player. Needless to say that was when her fiery nature showed itself and she had walked out of that date before dinner had even been served. 

“Hello, Angelina.” Percy’s voice breaks Angelina out of her musings and she finds Percy standing over her looking a bit nervous, himself. 

He’s dressed smartly in a white button-up shirt, with dark wash jeans and brown loafers. He looks smashing, in Angelinas opinion. His burnished hair is a curly mess atop his head, and his glasses compliment his face nicely. 

“Hi, Percy,” she smiles internally at his formal greeting, and he slides into the booth across from her. 

A waitress comes, and Angelina orders a double whiskey, neat. Percy orders the same, though he asks for a Laphroig and an additional glass of water, before looking at her and raising a brow. 

“I didn’t know you were a scotch drinker,” he remarks.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she retorts back.

He nods his head in acquiescence, “and I look forward to finding them out.” 

He gazes at her intently, and Angelina’s breath hitches because,  _ damn _ , who knew the stuffy Weasley had game? 

She thanks Merlin that her skin hides the heat in her cheeks and makes an effort to browse the menu. She doesn’t see the slight quirk of his lips, but she can feel his gaze lingering. 

Maybe Quidditch games are safer, after all. 

The waitress comes with their drinks then, and Angelina takes a generous sip of hers. Liquid courage, and all. After giving the waitress their food order, she inquires about his job. 

“I know you told me you work for D-MAC, but you never told me what and why?” 

Percy smiles, and Angelina likes the way his eyes crinkle. 

“Well, I am in the Spell Reversal Division, the magical creature section. I'm mainly utilized in cases of abuse or when dark magic is performed on them. I act as a liaison with the DCRMC and DMLE. I wanted to be able to help different species that are underprivileged. Voldemort wasn’t just after muggleborns, you know. The bias towards sentient magical beings is despicable. Hermione Granger and I are actually working on drafting a proposal for a ‘Creature Rights’ Committee to take to the Wizengamot this coming summer.” 

Unlike the deeper timbre he used when flirting with her, when his voice is passionate it lightens, though it wreaks havoc on her nerves all the same. 

Angelina likes that his face is flushed with indignation at the injustices he sees. She also notices a couple of things about Percy Weasley in that moment:

He rolls his scotch around his glass and inhales briefly before he takes a sip. 

His moral compass is strong and steady.

He really is a quintessential Gryffindor.

His eyes have flecks of green in them, and his full mouth looks absolutely kissable. 

She’s noticing these things, and it endears her to him more. She’s so intent in her focus, that she fails to notice that he’s stopped talking, and he’s staring at her. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the tips of his ears are reddening in embarrassment, “I must seem terribly boring to you. I know I can go on and on about my work and I know most people think…”

“No,” she interrupts him. “I actually think you’re incredible. IT! It’s incredible. That you’re… you know… advocating for the underdog.” She’s slightly flustered, and takes a breath before continuing. “What those poor beings have gone through hits entirely too close to home. I understand their pain.”

Percy nods, “because of your muggle heritage?” he asks as he adds a few droplets of water to his scotch.

She shakes her head, “no, because I’m black.”

He looks at her in confusion for a moment, “what do you mean ‘because you’re black’?”

She gestures to herself in an obvious motion. 

“No, I mean, I understand your skin color. I just don’t see how that correlates to Magical Creature Rights.”

She remembers that he’s a Pureblood. Not that she’s ever forgotten, per say. It’s just that, with the wizarding community still suffering the effects of Lord Voldemort, Angelina is both unsurprised and a bit indignant that most wizards had yet to brush up on muggle culture. 

“In the muggle world, people who look like me experience what we call racism. It’s the exact same ideology the Death Eaters and old Pureblood families abide by, except it’s about skin color and not magical blood.”

Percy is sufficiently shocked, he rears back momentarily before he leans forward. His elbows are on the table. She has his full attention.

“Skin color? As if that matters!” His voice raises a bit in incredulity, and Angelina glances around the pub. 

“Neither does being muggleborn, yet we just fought a war over it. The United States fought a huge war over slavery back in the late 1800s. Black people were bought and sold like cattle. They weren’t even considered human. Only in the 20th century were we even allowed to date outside of our race. Even here in England, people of my colour were only good as slaves, servants or laborers. Our skin was once a sign of ‘biblical damnation’ that we were so sinful our very skin showed it.”

Percy sits there in silence, and Angelina is fascinated by the array of emotions rippling across his features: Anger, sadness, disbelief, and anger again before he finally meets her eyes. She sees acceptance there, and sympathy. She doesn’t really need it, but she knows this is a natural emotion for people to feel. It doesn’t anger her anymore. 

“I’ve never felt that way before,” he admits quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, my family is the biggest group of blood traitors known to the U.K., but I’ve never been disenfranchised because of something so inherent as my blood… or skin.”

His voice sounds small. 

“That’s called white privilege,” Angelina says knowingly. “But Percy, even without knowing all of this you were still fighting for equality. Now, there’s just another dimension added to it. Now, you’re a bit more educated. Now, you can notice how some of the older white men in here have been eyeing us for the last hour.”

Percy glances around, and indeed, there are two white men sending them withered looks from across the bar. Percy glares back, and eventually, the pair turn their attentions back to the muggle TV. 

“Your skin doesn’t matter to me,” Percy says, taking her hand. “I personally think it’s beautiful.”

She swoons only a little, but her heart pounds steadily. 

Their food arrives then, and Percy stifles laughter when Angelina begins to inhale her food. 

“What?” She dares him with her eyes and he puts his hands up in mock surrender. 

“No judgement here,” he chuckles, “I like a woman who can eat. Your practice today must have been gruelling?”

And just like that, though they had some heavy conversation, they are able to jump back into lighter topics whilst eating. She tells Percy of her training schedule, how hard their captain pushes them, the constant drills. They talk about school and Percy is gobsmacked to find out that Angelina made one more N.E.W.T than he did. 

“You should’ve taken Muggle Studies, then,” she teases. 

The waitress comes by to clear the table of the last vestiges of their meals and inquires about dessert. 

“Are you still hungry?” Percy nods towards her. 

“I think you’re underestimating just how much food I can stuff into my mouth before you need to stop me.” 

He laughs a boisterous laugh that reminds Angelina that he is, in fact, related to the Weasley Twins. 

Once finished with dessert, (Angelina finished it and the rest of Percy’s when he admitted defeat), neither are ready to say goodbye, but Angelina is unsure of how to keep the night going. It’s a weeknight, they can’t exactly stay longer. 

“Well, I only live five blocks up, so I was just going to walk home,” Angelina says as Percy helps her into her coat. It’s outdated and old-fashioned and should make her feel less independent and more like an object according to the latest social morays - instead it makes her feel valued, and a little bit special. And if her skin heats at his gentle touch as he smooths the shoulders of her jacket, that’s her business. 

“Would you like me to accompany you? It’s a lovely night, and I would feel infinestimally better if you didn’t walk home alone. What if those racist people follow you?”

She pulls the lapel of her jacket to the side, “they’d be staring down the end of my wand.”

He smiles at the vicious undertone in her voice. 

“Well, I know you don’t need saving. I’ve seen you hold your own,” It’s the only time they’ve veered close to directly discussing their involvement in the war all night, “But, might I accompany you anyway? It would be nice to stretch my legs a bit.”

They walk along in companionable silence for the most part. Angelina points out various muggle establishments to him as they go, suggesting places for him to go in the future, or explaining the purpose of various shops. He does insist that he wants to learn more about the muggle way of life, after all. 

They finally reach her flat, and he walks her up the steps of her stoop. 

“I had a really nice time, tonight,” she says, lingering at the door. 

Waiting. 

“I did too, Angelina. I would love for us to do this again sometime.”

He’s taller than her by a few inches, so when he leans down, she stands on the tips of her toes… 

And he hugs her. 

She tries not to show her disappointment as he bids her goodbye and makes his way down the steps, but it is flooding her body rapidly and she’s angry to find that her eyes are starting to burn. Was he just not attracted to her? She feels like she’s been giving him hints all night, leaning in, smiling in all the right places, but maybe he’s just not into her? She’s also not used to this feeling of rejection, and she sighs and pulls her keys out. 

“Angelina?”

She turns to find him jogging back up the stairs. 

“I’m sorry,” Percy says heavily, and she notes he’s a bit breathless, “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

Angelina feels anticipation seeping into every cell of her being as he leans his head forward to capture her lips with his own. With the way he took back control of the situation, Angelina thought he would kiss her aggressively. She would not have minded it, but he is apparently adept at surprising her. Because though he does not hesitate in claiming her mouth, or pulling her tight against his body or sliding his tongue against hers, his kiss is gentle. Languid and smooth, just like the lines of his body. His hands are gripping her back and jaw with restrained patience, but his mouth is content to softly explore hers. 

Her eyes flutter closed. 

She finds she likes this kind of kiss. Immensely. But she wants more. 

Angelina wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him closer, groaning a bit when he responds with equal fervor. His kiss becomes punishing. His hands wander lower and grip the curvature of her arse and she smirks against his mouth when she hears his own groan rumbling in his throat. Because who knew that the stuffiest Weasley would be an arse man? 

The sensations he’s evoking is causing her skin to break out in gooseflesh and her stomach clenches as heat floods downward. She’s  _ needed  _ this feeling because it’s been so long. It doesn’t matter that it’s Percy, but it does. Because he’s been exceptionally unexpected and his hands are magnificent, and if his tongue is as talented on  _ other  _ parts of her body she might not ever let him leave. He’s quick witted and kind and has a surprising amount of bulk under his shirt despite his leaner stature. She eagerly explores it. Learns it. And  _ wants.  _

She’s a feminist, and has no qualms about backing them up to her door, so she can find a way to extract herself from him long enough pull him inside. The dull thunk of the wood against her back makes Angelina break the kiss and open her eyes in wonderment. 

His lips and cheeks are flushed, he’s breathing heavily, and his eyes are liquifying her soul. She takes in the angled lines of his face and lets out a breath. It’s more like a moan.

His hand is back to cupping her jaw tenderly, and she brings her own up to caress the inside of his wrist. 

She does this and notices an inky shadow peeking out from where his sleeve has risen up. 

Curiosity, and something else, builds inside of Angelina’s stomach. 

“You have a tattoo?” She asks, and then without asking, unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve. 

“Well, yes, I got it from Fred and George, it was kind of a prank really…” he trails off as he catches her stare. She glances down at his tattoo once more, up to his face and back again. She looks at him intently, measuring. Thoughts spinning frantically. She’s not sure if she wants to curse or kiss the Twins. Probably neither would be appropriate.

She slips off her coat and pulls the sleeve of her blouse up, showing Percy her own matching Gryphon tattoo. 

His eyes widen in astonishment. She can once again see an array of emotions splaying across his face. Surprise, disbelief…  _ hope _ ? His hand slowly reaches out to gently touch her arm, and the Gryphon residing there turns his head towards Percy's hand, flashes silver, and then returns to normal. 

His own Gryphon does the same. And somehow Angelina believes, because she’s always known that she is  _ magic _ . Her very being has come alive all in the space of one night. As soon as he touched her, she felt fire. Her skin is marked up by culture and history. But now, maybe love, too. 

“I didn’t think I believed in soulmates,” he whispers reverently. “I saw your name on the parchment, but never did I think you’d be meant for me.”

Percy is a Gryffindor but he wasn’t almost a Ravenclaw for nothing, so he asks questions first. 

“Why did you go on a date with me if you knew you had a soulmate out there somewhere?” 

His hand cups her jaw once again, and she tilts her head upwards. Angelina makes the first move this time, because she is a Gryffindor, and it’s not in her nature to just sit back and wait for love.

“Because I didn’t want to wait to be happy.”


End file.
